Gundam's Back, ALL RIGHT!
by XtinethePirate
Summary: THE HORROR!The diabolical mission to infiltrate Oz... as a Boy Band. Will the 5 G-boyz pull it off? Will Zechs be forced to sing Brittany Spears? Will Treize ever recover from his boy-band induced migraine? Gundam Wing meets BSB, & all the tunes you wanna
1. Prologue: I want it that Way

October 23, 2004

Author's Note!

YES!! I'm finally writing this fic! The idea was originally invented during the twilight years of BSB fandom – five years ago now? Jeez, I'm getting OLD! -- and after I saw the first three episodes of GW – a test run by YTV to see if the show would be popular. Well... five singers, five pilots... why not?

**I am officially coming out of the closet. I LIKE BSB, damn it! **At least their songs were catchy, and they understood the meaning of "tune" and "harmony". Sigh OK, Rant finished!

**Disclaimer**: If I owned either BSB or GW, I wouldn't be reduced to writing such sad fanfiction. I would have a life.

**Gundam's Back, ALL RIGHT!**

**Prologue: I want it that way.**

Duo poked his head around the door to Heero's room. The Japanese pilot, ever antisocial, had been holed up in there ever since the new mission had come down from HQ. No one else was privy to the intimate details of their next attack on Oz, only that it would cripple Treize's forces, and allow the pilots a unique chance – to infiltrate into the deepest heart of their enemy's base without interruption.

Heero didn't notice the intrusion into his private sanctuary. His eyes were closed, leaning back in his chair, looking almost relaxed. As relaxed as Heero ever got, anyways.

Duo thought for a second that his friend was sleeping, until he noticed the other pilot's lips moving soundlessly. Earphones were firmly clamped over Heero's ears, though what diabolical message of destruction could be playing on the CD was beyond Duo's imagination. Probably Linkin Park.

With a sigh, the American pilot closed the door, slamming it out of malicious spite – something we would never have dared had Heero been able to hear him. It seemed like he and the rest of the pilots would just have to wait to find out what their mission would be.

Hearing the door close, Heero opened one eye slowly. Good. Duo was gone. Reaching down, Heero stealthily turned the volume back up on his CD player, loud enough to hear the songs, but not so loud that he couldn't hear his own voice, singing along.

"Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a heartache. Tell me why, ain't nothin' but a mistake..."

What a stupid mission.

**END PROLOGUE!!**

So what do you think? Is this worth pursuing?! Well, I'm off to write the next chapter, so I suppose it's a little late BUT YOU CAN STILL STOP THE INSANITY. Leave a review down below, and put a halt to this madness, I beg you.

Xtine the Pop-singing Pirate.


	2. Chapter 1: It's Gotta Be You

Disclaimer: If I owned Gundam Wing, this would have been part of the plot. Heh heh heh.

Heero: Dear GOD, no!!

**Chapter 1: It's gotta be you.**

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Miserably, Treize shook his head, covering his face with one hand at the utter _indignity_ of it all. "Believe me, I wish I were."

Zechs stared, stunned, at his commander. Treize, generally so calm and composed, looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. "Your uncle must _really_ hate you," he said sympathetically.

Treize laughed shortly. "So it would seem."

"You can't do anything to prevent this?"

"Not if you want new Mobile Suits."

"I would prefer to die in battle due to a faulty MS then endure _this,_" Zechs muttered dryly, utterly disgusted.

Outside, the soldiers were already crowding around the ten-foot banner, covering one wall of the Oz Headquarters Building. _'Backstreet's Back! A Homage to the Backstreet Boys!'_ A banner that invited squalling fan-girls to come and scream loudly at the gate all day long, aggravating the depressed Oz Leader's already _killer_ migraine.

Worse yet, the frantic fandom mania seemed to be infecting the soldiers as well.

"Well... perhaps it won't be _that_ bad..." Zechs tried to console his friend.

"Duke Dermail wants a Brittany Spears act after intermission."

"Dear Christ."

"NO!" Treize yelled suddenly, leaping up from his desk, and pulling his pistol out, waving it wildly in the air. "I will kill myself before I allow that disgrace for a boy band corrupt my soldiers!" Turning, he fired through the plate-glass window, emptying the entire clip into the courtyard.

Screams erupted, BSB maniacs and Oz troops (and those who qualified for both categories), scattered, some of them limping slightly.

Zechs walked over to the spider-webbed window, with its six matching bullet holes. Placing one hand against the fractured pane, he pushed lightly, causing the whole delicate arrangement to collapse in a shower of crystalline shards.

"Practice your aim, Treize," he scolded his frazzled friend calmly, "Then we'll pick off those pansy singers one by one at the concert."

A blissful smile crossed Treize's face as he contemplated it. It was a most pleasant thought... but... "No," he sighed. "We'd have a riot on our hands if we did that."

Zechs scowled slightly, but had to concede his friend's point. "I guess the only thing left is to pray for a Gundam attack."

"You think they will?" Treize sounded hopeful.

Zechs shrugged. "Gather all the Oz and Romafellar bigwigs together for this, make it into a big event..."

"Dermail _will_ be coming, it was his idea after all," Treize mused.

"The Gundam pilot's won't be able to resist." Zechs concluded wickedly. "And perhaps we'll be fortunate, and your darling uncle will be caught in the crossfire!"

"And wouldn't _that_ be a pity..." Treize added caustically.

Zechs smirked. Once again, he was right about everything. It was nice to be able to gloat.

"But Zechs..?" Treize added, causing the smug pilot to hesitate in the doorway. The younger boy repressed a shudder. Treize could teach sharks how to smile. "If I make a big deal out of this concert, and am seen to be supporting it...you had better be right about the Gundam pilots."

"I'm _always_ right." Zechs muttered rebelliously. _Nearly_ always, at least.

"Because if you're _wrong_," Treize continues pleasantly, as though his friend hadn't spoken, "then I'll support another concert, with an imitation N'Sync group. And _you_ will be Justin Timberlake."

Zechs went pale. "You wouldn't dare." Sending him to fight the Gundam Pilots armed only with a water-pistol would be a preferable fate. It would be less laughable, at least.

"...Or Christina Aguilara (sp?)..." Treize continued, sinking to even lower depths of cruelty.

Zechs quickly made a hasty retreat, leaving his General, who had, it seemed, finally snapped.

Treize chuckled as Zechs fled his office, feeling a lot better than he had all morning. "Baby, it's the way you make me..." he sang quietly to himself, turning back to his laptop. He stopped immediately, mortified.

"Damn songs are just so _catchy,_" Treize murmured, shaking off the gruesome feeling of being caught singing Backstreet Boys. With a sigh, he went back to work.

And had to catch himself again, five minutes later, for singing the same song.

**END CHAPTER 1!! **

**Treize: ** Those _fucking_ songs! (pardon his French. )

Hee hee. Save the Treize, stop the BSB-induced insanity – POST A REVIEW!

Xtine "The One" Pirate.

Neo: HEY! I'm "the One!" You can't steal my NAME!

Frodo: Isn't it 'The one' RING?

Xtine: sigh No no no! "The One!" Like the song?! Actually, a song I don't really like, but it fit....nevermind.


	3. Chapter 2: Larger Than Life

Disclaimer: Do you know how hard it is to be really unique with these things? It's a bugger, let me tell you. Yeah, so I don't own any of it, except the sad excuse for a plot. Sorry for the cop-out!

Author's Note: Yep, I'm still here. You'd think I'd have been whacked by some irate fanfiction reader by now, wouldn't you? Oh hello, big person with gun, pinstripe suit, and noticeable absence of neck! How are you? I'm...fine, thank you very... NO! NO!!!!! Pleaseeeeaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhh!

'Eh, youse guys. Dis story's now de official property of da fuckin' Don, and 'ee don' like deese pansy singuhs. So fogeddabouddit, capish?

AHEM. Pardon the interruption. The Management hereby apologizes for any and all instances that may or may not appear in this fic, its associated disclaimers and author's notes, of violence, harsh language, or incredibly bad accents that may prove offensive to the eyes of some readers. The Management hereby denies any and all responsibility for any effects that continued exposure to these elements of fanfiction may cause. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN DISCREATION....((er, _discretion_, but it makes an interesting typo, doesn't it...?))

**Chapter 2: Larger than Life.**

The four pilots assembled nervously in the living room of their current apartment, waiting for Heero to emerge from his room. The past couple of days had been extraordianarily tense, everyone on edge waiting for the recalcitrant Gundam Pilot to make an appearance.

No one had seen or heard him leave his room, but the terse notes had been found on all of the pilot's bedroom doors.

"Meeting. Re: Mission. Tomorrow. 0900 hrs."

Well, that was Heero for you.. always sweet, always lighthearted and pleasant and able to write in complete sentences....

Duo stared at his wristwatch, coutnign down the seconds along with the glowing green display. "9:00 in... 3.. 2.. 1...!"

Along with a chorus of irritating mechanical beeps, Heero emerged from his room, looked disheveled and more homicidal than usual.

"How does he _do_ that?" Duo demanded, sotto voce. He knew Heero had no clocks in his room, there was no time display set on his laptop -- an unusual and rather disturbing omission, smug in its presence. Hell, he had even examined the splinters on the wooden windowsill to ensure there wasn't any covert sundial-ing going on.

Despite the American's increasing agaitation on the subject, no one else really gave a damn. It was just a part of Heero's personna.... 'Omae wo kurosu', getting blown up, and being frekishly punctual.

"We need to talk," Heero announced grimly as he leaned against the wall just inside the door. "This mission is something unlike anything we've ever done before." he paused, letting the implications sink in.

"Well, there are a LOT of things we've never done before on a mission, such as investigating bars, or searching for Oz soldiers at strip clubs...?" Duo trailed off hopefully.

He was universally ignored.

"This is a completely unprecedented opportunity, one that could cripple Oz indefinitely."

Wufei shrugged, unimpressed. "So what's the master plan to get us into the Headquarters building?"

Heero scowled darkly, annoyed that Wufei had somehow read his mind and figured out their ultimate goal. _He_ was supposed to be in charge of the mission, not Wufei. HE was.

Heero didn't like it when his power was usurped.

"Just get on with it Yuy, stop pouting. We've been in this apartment for three weeks now. We have a view overlooking the Oz compound. We take the visitor's guided tour every Friday."

"They are really desperate for funding." Duo agreed.

"That lazer show is pretty damn pathetic though." Trowa continued.

Heero coughed importantly, trying to restore the meeting to its original focus: HIM. "What Dr. J wants us to do is sneak into the base under a disguise. Something our enemies would never expet from us."

"No _way_!" Duo gasped breathlessly. "They're having an _anime convention?!_"

The other pilots exchanged looks, and shuddered. Friends did _not_ let friends do anime.

"Actually, that's two weeks from now." Heero replied, checking his weekly Oz bulletin. "But _next_ week, they're having a Backstreet Boys band revival... thing."

Utter silence.

"You mean to say that the doctors want us to dress up... and pretend to be a teen-idol boy band?" Wufei demanded slowly, his voice shaking.

"Yes."

Quietly, without looking at any of his friends, Wufei rose from the couch and left the room. The pilots flinched, waiting to hear the door slam, but all there was was a very firm 'click'. A sound that clearly stated to the soundless boys "YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MINDS!", Wufei-style.

"I think he's really upset, Heero," Quatre began tremulously. "Do you think this is such a good idea?"

"It's our only way in," Heero stated blandly, "and we'll need the five of us to pull it off. Wufei will just have to deal with it, like the rest of us."

"This _is _Wufei we're talking about." Trowa reminded the Japanese pilot grimly. "Even if he was guaranteed the chance to shoot Treize in the head at the end of it, he wouldn't do it."

Alone in his room, Wufei paused, pressing his ear against the rough, unpainted wood of his door, listening for footsteps in the hallway. When none were forthcoming, the Chinese pilot moved stealthily over to his closet, pushing aside the rows of blue shirts and white pants, and tugging down the poster of Nataku.

Then he smiled hugely up at his shrine, picture after picture dedicated to his idol.

"Thank you A.J., thank you!" he breathed ecstatically, "I always knew you'd come through for me!"

He frowned, poking at a shoebox stuffed in the corner. "Hmm... I wonder if Yuy has all the Cds...?" (He, of course, had collected all the albums religiously, but some of them were just too precious to let Yuy and the idiot American touch.)

"So..." Duo was beginning to smirk, a sure sign that things were about to get vulgar, profane, or loaded with cheap innuendo. Or all three. "We just walk in there and sing for a bunch of fangirls, is that it? No problem!"

With that arrogant proclamation, he jumped up onto the low coffee table, pretending to hold a mike in his clenched right hand, waggling his hips outrageously as he sang.

"I'm doing this tonight!  
Your Mobile Suit's can't fight,  
And you don't have the right to battle, come on,  
For you are just too weak,  
And if Death's what you seek,  
Then fight Shinigami,  
Hey Leos come on!"

"What's he doing...?" Quatre whispered...

"I know my suit can't take much more, and it ain't no lie!  
Omae wo kurosu anyways,  
Aries die die DIE!"

"Not too subtle, Duo," Trowa drawled sarcastically.

"That's N'Sync, anyways."

All heads snapped around, the room becoming deathly quiet once more as they stared at the speaker.

Heero raised one cynical eyebrow. "What?"

The other three exchanged glances, with much going on in the way of knowing nods and wiggling eyebrows.

"Ok. Mr. Perfect-Soldier and know-it-all, " Duo interrupted Quatre's and Trowa's silent conversation of facial contortion, "see if I ever put you in one of my songs ever again!" He paused for a moment, considering.

"I've been fighitng hard with people screaming below, all right!" he crooned into his air-mike,

"But piloting a Gundam isn't easy you know, all right!  
All of my time's spent, on Mission M....  
All you Oz troops, now you see, now you see,  
I am the Grim Reaper, I'm Shinigami!"

"You know, once he gets started, he's not half bad..." Trowa noted with a smile. Heero grunted in response.

"Blowing up your bases, then let Heero do the rest,  
For I am the god of Death!"

"Like I'd clean up after your messes, Duo," Heero snorted, tugging the dancing bishie down off the coffee table before he hurt himself. Or anybody else.

Duo giggled madly, still humming the tune of his new song, creating new verses as he went along. Not any that he could sing out _loud_, of course, not without Heero putting a couple of bullets through his brain, but it was still entertaining.

"This is going to be FUN!" he exclaimed happily.

"Duo," Quatre cautioned his freind mildly, "You realize you're going to have to sing the _proper_ lyrics while we're on stage."

Duo waved one ahnd nonchalantly. "Yeah, ok, whatever."

"Winner's right, Maxwell. I won't let you corrupt those lyrics. That would be an Injustice."

Duo turned quickly at the sound of Wufei's voice.

His jaw dropped.

He began laughing hysterically.

**END CHAPTER!**

Ooh.. what is BSB-crazed Wu doing that would make Maxwell laugh? Not that that's exactly _difficult_ to do, but that's beside the point. Hope you're enjoying the fic! I may actually FINISH this one! Wouldn't that be a novelty?!

Xtine the Pirate


	4. Chapter 3: The Perfect Fan

Update update update…

Thank you to every one who's read and reviewed the story so far! I apologize for the lack of quality in the plot. Perhaps quantity will make up for it..?

Treize: NO! Do NOT make me put up with this for longer than is absolutely necessary, I _beg_ you!

Xtine: Mwahahahahahahaaaa….

Disclaimer: _clears throat_

The songs, I don't own  
I'm just a bit stoned,  
Believe, when I say  
Copyrights make it that way!  
Tell me why  
I can't own Gundam Wing!  
Tell me why!  
And give them bad songs to siiing,  
Tell me why,  
I can't write what I want to saaaay,  
Copyrights make it THAAAAT way!

Thank you, thank you.

((Sorry the syllables don't really match up… I was more going for the rhyme scheme…))

Duo: she's just pissed that my songs in chapter 2 were better…

**Chapter 3: The Perfect Fan**

Duo was still cackling five minutes later.

"Shut it, Maxwell," Wufei snapped, leaning casually against the doorframe. This knocked his hat askew, making the rest of the pilots cough suddenly to hide their own mirth.

Wufei waited patiently for the snickering to stop. He _knew_ he looked good, and he had waited too long for this moment to let an ignorant bunch of morons like Maxwell and Yuy screw this up for him.

Duo flopped back down on the couch with a giggle, knowing that this was, indeed, the best day of his life.

The Chinese pilot who stood glaring at them bore practically no resemblance to the arrogant Justice-crazed teenager they knew so well. _That_ Wufei would never have let his hair down, smothering it with gel and scrunching it with his hands to get a crinkly effect, tugging two strands forward over his ears to create sideburns. _That_ Wufei wouldn't be caught dead with a fake goatee – no matter how realistic it looked, and regardless of how good he looked in it.

And although the Wufei of the past would have approved of the stark, all white clothing – a colour that he knew complimented his austere kung-fu-esque persona, he would _never_ have been caught _dead_ in a cowboy hat.

That would have been injustice.

"Hey, um… 'Fei… ah.." Duo started to speak again, timing his words between sporadic fits of laughter.

"I am _not_ Wufei," Wufei snapped arrogantly, lifting his chin slightly, "I have moved beyond that weak state of being. _I_ am…" he paused for dramatic emphasis, " A.J."

Quatre went wide-eyed, staring at the pilot-turned-cowboy-pop-star, tugging anxiously at Trowa's shirtsleeve. "I think Wufei's lost it, Tro," he whispered softly, face contorted with worry. "Should we take him to the hospital?"

"Who knows what effect that would have on the other patients?" The solemn boy replied.

"All I know is that I would not be seen in such a gay-ass outfit…" Duo murmured rebelliously.

Wufei…er, AJ stalked across the room, giving the American's braid a sharp tug. "What about your dressing up as Sailor Jupiter, Maxwell? _Who's_ the one who's 'gay-ass'?"

The pilots collectively hid smirks.

"That… well, I... that was just for Halloween, guys!" Duo stammered out a protest.

"In July?" Heero responded dryly.

"Well… it was all Hilde's idea, ok? Besides, there was this anime convention, and I _did_ end up winning the cosplay contest after all, and it's not like I _wanted_ to do it, and –"

"That's why you keep the costume in your closet?"

Duo gasped, betrayed. "Trowa! You promised you wouldn't tell, in exchange for _my_ keeping quiet about your little obsession with –"

"_Anyways_," the Heavyarms pilot interrupted loudly, turning back to Wufei. "I have to agree with Duo. I don't want to dress up like… like THAT. It's just… tacky."

"Got a problem with my outfit, Barton?" 'AJ' snarled, "because if we're discussing things that are tacky, we could get started on the_ hideous_ colour of your Gundam. Orange. Bright, fucking _orange_. I mean, even the Baka there," a gesture to Duo, "understands the concept of _subtlety._"

"You call that _hat_ subtle?"

"Guys, we shouldn't be fighting!" Quatre protested, teary eyed. "This is all my fault, I shouldn't have decided on this mission."

Heero looked blank. "Quatre… you _didn't_."

"But what if I had dreamed of it one night, and I didn't remember but the Doctors read my mind and then organized this thing at Oz, and then sent us on this mission, then it _would_ be all my fault, and we'd never even know it, would we!?" he started sobbing.

"Can't we just reach a compromise here..?" Duo asked tentatively. "Like, we go sing the stupid songs, but without dressing up, or something like that?"

"No." 'AJ' snapped. "We can't. Because if we want to get into that base, we need to audition, and to win that competition, we need to be the best. To be the best, we need to look, and act, the part."

"You're a fanatic."

Wufei smiled thinly, removing the hat and setting it aside carefully. "I'm also the Perfect Fan, Maxwell, so if you want to get into that base, you're going to have to listen to _me_. If not…" he shrugged, turning to leave the room. "I can always join up with some other group. I'd love to see you win this with only four people."

The room was glumly silent after the door closed, Trowa having finally convinced the hysteric Arabian that he hadn't psychically projected his dreams to malignant forces.

"I suppose we have no choice, do we…?" Heero began slowly, " Auditions are in three days."

"So… who's going to be who?" Duo asked innocently.

END CHAPTER.

Hmm… sort of barely clinging onto the humorous aspect of the story, aren't we?? Bad Xtine. This would not work if it turned serious. I promise to try harder next time!! But, ah, cough cough lots of reviews would help me with that!!!

Now I can see that I've fallen apart,

From the way the plot used to be, yeah.

No matter the OOC, I want you to know!

That deep inside my PC….

Um, yeah… we'll stop that right there. Kudos and a Wufei-J – get it? Like AJ, cuz "fei" rhymes w/ "a"…? Never mind…-- Wufei-J plushie to anyone who bothers to finish the song. .

Sort of a "Congratulations, you're a very very sad person" prize, don't you think?

Xtine the ROCKIN Pirate. ARRR.


	5. Chapter 4: All I Have to Give

November 29, 2004

Ahem.

Pardon the extreme delay in any updating, I had this chapter idea – or a nebulous version of it – for quite some time, but what can I say? I've been _busy!_ If I wouldn't get suspended for doing so, I would post the email of my AP English and AP Biology teachers so you could all email them and complain. I repeat: it's not my fault!!!

**Disclaimer**: Pop songs meets anime. Only a truly demented mind could come up with that. No, I am not doing this for money… honestly, who would pay for it….?

Chapter 4: All I Have to Give 

Zechs tapped lightly on the door to Treize's office, seeing that there was no light shining from underneath the door. The halls of Oz were deathly silent; it was well after midnight, for one, and the constant noise that had plagued all the non-BSB fans during the day was finally over.

Auditions had started at 0600 that morning.

Treize had been taking migraine medication starting at 0605. And had continued to take it for the next 11 hours. Every five minutes.

Another knock, slightly louder, was answered by a muffled groan of protest. Zechs took that as his cue to enter, pushing the door open quietly, and stifling a smile.

The room was completely dark. Lady Une sat on the edge of the leather couch, gently running her fingers through the hair of the currently incapacitated Leader of Oz.

"I don't give a _damn_ what you want Zechs…just…go…. away…." Treize muttered slowly, gingerly opening one eye to glare at his subordinate.

Zechs tried not to laugh.

"Did it go well today, Your Excellency?" he inquired mildly, as though he didn't already know the answer to that question.

Treize shuddered profoundly, his hands clenching compulsively at his sides as he flinched.

Swiftly, Lady Une rose from the couch, shooting a very pointed look at the grinning Colonel.

"I'll put some music on, Your Excellency," she murmured smoothly, interrupting any smart-ass comment that Zechs had had in mind.

"Yes, please…" Treize groaned. "Anything to get those _fucking songs_ out of my head!" He pressed one palm against his eyes. "And they all sang the same one, too, the miserable little pansy-ass bastard sons-of-bitches…"

Zechs rocked back on his heels slightly, beginning to hum innocently, with a wicked grin that belied the apparent randomness of the notes. He enjoyed watching his commander twitch.

Of course, the song was just too catchy to merely _hum…_

"I _will_ shoot you Zechs."

"Sorry sir."

"This is going to kill me. I don't care if my uncle destroys Oz, I don't care if we don't get any new Mobile Suits, and I certainly wouldn't care if the pilot of 05 came back right now and put a bullet in my head," Treize rambled, staring wild-eyed up at the ceiling. "Anything to END THIS MISERY!!!"

"Shhhh…" Lady Une soothed him, as the quiet cello strains of Pachobel's Canon filled the dark room.

"Another day of…of _that_, and I'll do it myself," Treize concluded.

"Good idea." Zechs remarked, carefully sitting on the edge of Treize's desk. "If word gets out about this particular weakness of yours, the Gundam pilots will start singing some pop song when they fight, instead of that annoying Japanese one."

"Just Communication?"

"That's it. Of course, Heero now thinks that he's somehow distinctive, so he made up a new one…Emotional…something or other." Zechs waved one hand dismissively.

"He _does_ have a nice voice though, you have to admit…"

There was a momentary silence, as both men turned slowly to look at Lady Une. In the sudden quiet, there was a whirr of the CD changing, moving from something appropriately melancholy to bouncy and bright.

Zechs and Une both ducked instinctively.

A gunshot echoed. The music stopped.

"I _hate_ Vivaldi," Treize muttered.

…And then, sneaking into the silence like a particularly annoying thief, came the faintest whisper of oh-so-familiar music. It was tinny, and distant, as though someone had accidentally left his or her Discman running.

Then gradually the words became clear.

_But my love is all I have to give_

_Without you I don't think I could live._

I wish I could give the worl --- 

"Where is it? I know I can hear it! WHERE IS IT!?" Treize leapt up from the couch, mindless of his splitting headache in his sudden, insane fury.

Zechs arched one eyebrow sardonically at Lady Une behind the raving General's back, gratified to see her blush furiously in the dimness of the room.

Light came on, blinding them all, as Treize threw items of his desk, scattering papers and nearly smashing a large brandy decanter, which Zechs managed to snatch in the nick of time.

Lady Une shot him a pleading look, rising to try and restrain her psychotic Commander.

Zechs grinned. Oh _yes._ Blackmail opportunities awaited.

"I don't hear anything, Treize…" he remarked innocently, pouring himself a large brandy.

Lady Une forced a concerned expression that was almost believable, pressing her hand to Treize's forehead. "Are you feeling all right, Your Excellency? The Vivaldi has stopped, I apologize for putting it in the CD player…"

_Does he leave, when you need him the most…_

"Not the Vivaldi," Treize snapped. "It's that damn boy band…." He held up one hand for silence, listening with the creepy intensity of the mentally unhinged.

_…'Cause if you were my girl, I'd make it so we'd never be apart…_

"There! You can't tell me you don't hear that!" Treize crowed triumphantly.

Zechs mastered his expression with difficulty, working it into one of veiled anxiety. "No sir."

"Wait." Lady Une said swiftly. "No… I think I _do_ hear something…over here!" She dashed across the room, dragging Treize with her, and giving Zechs a very pointed look.

"In my bag!" she mouthed deliberately.

"Ah."

Casually, Zechs got up and strolled across the room to where Une's purse was nestled under a pile of scattered papers, right next to Treize's desk.

_But my love is all I have to –_

His fingers found the off button, and the faint music died.

"Oh no. It was nothing after all… my mistake." Lady Une spoke swiftly.

Treize collapsed on the couch once again, burying his head in his hands. "I know I… you didn't…? My uncle must be bugging this office, that's the only possible explanation. He wants to drive me insane –" he started to get up.

"No, I think you just are insane, Treize." Zechs replied.

The General looked at him for a second, then sagged back down onto the couch. "I think you're right." He looked perfectly miserable. Zechs tried not to laugh.

"Poor Treize," Lady Une simpered, something she was quite good at doing, while glaring at another person simultaneously, Zechs noted. "It's very late, and you've had a long, hard, day. You were probably just hearing that song in your head again, after all, you had to listen to it enough this evening."

She was giving Zechs a very pointed look as she spoke, inclining her head sharply at the door. Zechs looked down at the CD player, still clutched in his hand, and rose to grab her bag.

"Why don't you just close your eyes now, and try to get some sleep. You're in no condition to drive home. You'll need your strength; after all, the auditions run for another three day – put the gun down, Treize. Put. It Down. Good. Now give it to me… thank you. Try to get some sleep, sir. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

Zechs lingered outside the door while she turned the lights out, leaning casually against the wall with an evil smirk. Without a word, he handed over her purse.

"Don't. Say. Anything." She cautioned.

"What? Me?" he affected an air of injured innocence. "As if _I_ would make a smug remark about the Bitch Queen of Oz being in love with Kevin from the Backstreet Boys-"

"You _bastard!_ How dare you read my journal!!!!"

Zechs blinked once. "Um… actually, I was guessing."

"Oh."

"You _really –"_

"Shut. Up."

"But you _actually_—"

"I said, shut the hell up."

They walked in silence for a few moments. Then:

"It's not as if your taste in music is any better, you know."

"Better than an outdated and pathetic boy band? It sure as hell is!"

"Liar."

"Excuse me, there is nothing wrong with Say Anything or Waking Ashland. You are merely uncultured."

"Waking _who?_"

"My point exactly."

"Huh."

"Indeed."

"… Zechs…?"

"Yes?"

"Where's my CD player..?"

"Um…"

---

Treize opened one eye slowly, peering around the darkened room, hardly daring to breathe. It was there; he _knew_ it was there. It was just being… sneaky. That was all. As soon as he turned on the lights, it would be gone. It was too clever to be caught that way. But he could hear them, oh yes, they made _damn sure_ he could hear them, the bastards. That same damn song, over and over again….

_But my love is all I have to give_

_Without you I don't think I could live…_

---

"You did _WHAT?!" _

END CHAPTER

Hee hee hee, ah pobrecito Treize-y. He got a little wackier in this one than I had originally intended, but oh well. Zechs is such a little jerk!! I LOVE IT!

Anyways, please read and review, let me know what you think, and tell me what you want to see happen next!!! (Very useful for when I run out of ideas. Which is often.)

Xtine the Pirate.


	6. Chapter 5: The Call

**April 10, 2005**

Ok, thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story, and a big sorry for the fact that I almost never work on it! Hee hee hee.

**Disclaimer:** It's a damn good thing I'm not getting paid for this, because then I'd have to work to a deadline. Can anyone actually see that happening? I didn't think so.

**Chapter 5: The Call.**

"Oh God, please, please don't hurt me! I just wanted to be in Entertainment, man, I was just trying to make enough money to go back to college in the fall, that's all, I mean, for God's sakes--"

"Shut up." Heero said succinctly.

The babbling teenager instantly stopped talking, flinching against the ropes that held him against the chair, twisting his head around to try to peer through the blindfold over his eyes. After a moment of silence, he tentatively started talking again.

"So, um, dude. Hey, what's your grudge against the Backstreet Boys, man? I'm… I'm majoring in journalism, yeah, that's it, and, uh, I could, like, tell your story to the world and… AHHH NO, DON'T KILL ME!"

Wufei froze, holding the white cowboy hat that he'd plucked from the kid's head, an act that had prompted a new wave of hysterics. He inspected the hat at arm's length, one lip curling slightly. Heero raised one eyebrow at him.

"It's inferior anyways," Wufei explained in an undertone. "Hey, Duo, you want this?"

The braided boy glanced up from the television. "Huh? Oh," his eyes narrowed as he saw what Wufei was offering to him. Leaning one arm on the back of the couch, he glared at the Chinese boy, shaking his head in disgust.

"You know what, 'Fei? I expected better of you, I really did. You of all people should know how hurtful stereotypes are."

Wufei blinked in confusion. "What the hell—?"

Duo cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "I don't want to hear it, all right? I see how it is! You offer me a cowboy hat, because I'm an American, is that it?"

Wufei turned helplessly to Heero, who shrugged.

"Yeah, that's…right, Duo, that _is_ what I thought." Wufei said slowly. "So…do you want the hat?"

Duo stared at him for a long moment.

"Yeah, ok." He went back to staring at the TV

The Chinese pilot swung around to face Heero incredulously.

"Just let it go," Heero advised him, turning back to the shivering little snot, who jumped when Heero spoke to him again.

"So, you auditioned for the Backstreet's Back concert yesterday at the Oz base?"

"Dude, it's just a job, all right? I don't like, _agree_ with Oz, or anything like that –"

Duo jumped up and stalked around the couch to face the terrified guy. "Why not? You got a problem with Oz or something, kid?" he snapped in a 'tough guy' voice, pushing the chair back sharply.

"NO! No, really I don't, I love Oz, actually, I wanted to get a job there, but I'm not bright enough…or strong enough… or…or brave enough…."

"Oh really?" Wufei murmured, flipping through the pictures in his CD booklets, trying to decide on what outfit of A.J.'s he would wear.

Heero glared at Duo until the American pilot backed off, muttering, "Yeah, well, you thought it was funny the first couple of times…"

Trowa came through the door at that moment, followed closely by Quatre. Both were sipping at fountain soft drinks, wearing complimentary Oz baseball caps, while Quatre sported a new white T-Shirt – "I 'heart' my Leo Suit."

At Heero's pointed look, the blonde pilot blushed. "I can't help it, those concession stand vendors at the end of the tour are just so _desperate_… I feel really bad for them."

Trowa tossed his baseball cap to the waiting Duo, who eagerly crammed it on his head, tugging his braid out the back. "We watched the auditions today." He informed Heero quietly. "They're exactly like the kid said."

"Judged by the female Oz soldiers?"

Nod.

"Can you _tell_ they're Oz soldiers?"

Shake. "Screaming fan-girls all."

"Are they hot?"

Duo was, as usual, ignored.

"Most of the bands scored a 9 out of ten, none lower than a 6." Trowa continued.

Heero whistled quietly. This would be tougher than he expected.

The other four pilots gathered around him, expectant. All of their rehearsing (which amounted to about 5 minutes, or a lifetime, for Wufei), all of their planning (getting drunk and complaining about the mission, or almost forever for Wufei) had all come down to this moment. The third and final day to audition would begin tomorrow, the last change to be brave and noble and to make a difference in the fortunes of the war… or to go and sing.

Heero nodded at Wufei. "Make the call."

END CHAPTER!

yeah, ok, it's really short, sorry about that, but it's late and I'm tired! Hee hee hee, anyways, next chapter should be up soon, and I'll try to make it longer to compensate for this one.

Xtine


End file.
